


Pulling Petals

by Skulduggery



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Courtship, F/M, adult Sigrid, four years later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skulduggery/pseuds/Skulduggery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sigrid was fourteen years old, her entire life changed in the course of one day. Her father harbored the Company of Thorin Oakenshield on their quest to reclaim Erebor; his decision led a pack of orcs to attack their defenseless home, followed by the onslaught of the virulent dragon Smaug. While Bard was preoccupied with the defense of the lake, his family was protected by the dwarves that remained behind: Oin, Bofur, Kili, and most of all, Fili.</p><p>That night was the beginning of an intense infatuation that Sigrid harbored toward Fili. But as she matured and took on the duties that came with being the new Lady of Dale, she realized that such affections had no place in her life. She moved on, and Fili was none the wiser.</p><p>One week before her eighteenth birthday, Bard announces to a large crowd of townsfolk and dignitaries that Sigrid is eligible for marriage. She is suddenly faced with prospective suitors on all sides, and Fili is left with the uncomfortable realization that he may very well lose the love that has been staring him in the face the entire time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goats and Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't enough Fili/Sigrid in the world.

“The Master of the Lake-realm of Esgaroth sends his greetings to the Beauteous Lady Sigrid of Dale, with hopes that fonder relations may one day follow.”

Sigrid stared at the herd of bleating goats in front of her. She could appreciate the value of goats, of course, in a very abstract sort of way. She understood that the herd was likely worth a great deal and it was an incredibly generous gift. That said, she had grown up in fairly humble circumstances wherein no one had ever bothered to give her goats before, so she was moderately flabbergasted by the situation at hand.

“Da,” she called, frowning as one of the goats nuzzled at her hand. “Why is the Master sending me goats?”

Her father jumped down from the musicians’ stage and scowled at Alfrid. It was remarkable, really, that the slimy lakeman still managed to cling to the Master like a fungus after all these years. After the death of Smaug at her father’s hands, Sigrid had been certain the Master’s time was at an end— especially when it was discovered that a large portion of the money that had been set aside for the rebuilding of Esgaroth had gone missing. Everyone knew the Master had been embezzling municipal funds, and after all the times he’d set himself in opposition to Bard— the people’s champion— it had seemed likely that his good favor with the public was at an end. Yet still he remained comfortably seated on his moldy, dirty throne over the people of the lake, apparently with the luxury of both time and money to stage silly stunts such as this.

“That is a very good question,” Bard said levelly, giving Alfrid a significant look.

“I understand your eighteenth birthday’s soon,” Alfrid answered, pointedly directing the statement at Sigrid and ignoring Bard.

“It’s— well, yes, it’s in a week. But…” she trailed off, watching the goats mill around the market square.

“You can inform the Master that we do not accept his gift,” Bard said coldly. “Take these vermin back to the lake— we’re having a party tonight, in case you hadn’t heard, and it will be crowded enough without a herd of goats wandering about and causing a fuss.”

To say that they were having a party was putting it lightly. It was the midsummer festival, one of the largest celebrations of the year. Not only would all the folk of the newly re-established Dale be in attendance, but they were also expecting a wide array of foreign dignitaries— with delegations from Esgaroth, Erebor, the Iron Hills, and the Woodland Realm having already confirmed. Those were only the official parties; there were rumors that even stranger folk had come to Dale to witness the splendor and wealth of the rebuilt city, which was fast becoming an important hub for trade throughout the continent. The North, once a dying place of blistering cold and bitter spirits, had found its springtime at long last, and the Desolation of Smaug was blossoming into a fertile land of plenty.

Alfrid scowled at Bard before huffing a few snide orders at his men, who were left with the unfortunate task of gathering up the goats once more and herding them back over the long road from Dale to Esgaroth. The distance was easy enough to traverse in a few hours’ time, and less if one had the benefit of horses— but with the herd of goats in tow, it would likely take them the better part of the day to get back to the lake. She felt a shallow stab of pity for them; this would be the party of a lifetime, and certainly not one to miss.

Bard wrapped his arm around Sigrid’s shoulders and squeezed her close against his side, giving her a reassuring smile when she looked up at him.

“Da?” she asked softly.

“What is it, darlin’?” He rubbed her arm, clothed in the silky sleeve of a dress the color of the sky. She’d grown accustomed to wearing finery, though it had taken time. She knew her distaste was shared by her father— they were both practically minded individuals who much preferred a functional set of work clothes to the frippery that was fast becoming the fashion in the North. But she couldn’t deny that her father looked remarkably handsome dressed up in his best— an expertly tailored tunic in deep emerald green— and she knew that the same pride shone in his eyes whenever he looked on her made up like an exquisite lady.

“You’re acting strange,” she observed, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

He laughed and the sound did a great deal to put her nerves at ease, but all the same, she thought she detected a stiff edge in his voice, like he was forcing his mirth for her benefit. “Don’t you worry, my girl,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s nothing. Now, you’d best get to the bakery and check with Bertha about that order. She said she was going to hire a few extra hands but I wouldn’t put it past her to try and do it all herself in order to spare the expense.”

“Mm,” she agreed, pulling away and nodding as she recalled the greedy baker. “Don’t forget I was also going to check in with the delegation from Erebor to make sure there aren’t any problems with their accommodations this time around.”

Bard breathed a heavy sigh and gave a stiff nod of assent. _Problems with their accommodations_ was a remarkably polite way of putting it. The last time the dwarves had come to Dale, someone had poisoned their ale and tried to implicate Bard. They were all spared the trouble when one of the men in the tavern had sampled the ale first and unexpectedly keeled over, but from there it hadn’t been difficult to uncover the set-up. Sigrid merely counted it as her good fortune that they were so closely acquainted with Erebor’s usual ambassador, Fili, nephew to King Thorin and heir to the throne of Erebor. He’d been remarkably good natured about the fiasco and dismissed it as a failed attempt to spoil relations between the two kingdoms. Sigrid was certain that had it been anyone else, they would be in the midst of a bloody war by now.

“You’ll say hello to Fili for me, won’t you?” Bard remarked absently, already looking around to evaluate what else needed to be done.

“Of course,” Sigrid replied with a faint smile. She wondered if her father would harbor such warm regard for the dwarf if he knew the infatuation Sigrid had felt toward him for several years following the dwarves’ arrival at Laketown.

* * *

 

“Oh, Fili, this is beautiful! Surely you don’t mean it’s for me!” Sigrid gasped, cradling the jeweled comb in her fingers. Fashioned from silver and an array of pale, glittering gemstones that she didn’t even want to consider the worth of, the hair piece was modeled into the filigree likeness of a butterfly— delicate and perfect and probably the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Fili laughed, folding his arms over his chest. “You don’t really think I’d bring it all the way down from the mountain just to show it off, do you?”

“But I— I couldn’t possibly…” she faltered, then swallowed hard as a thought occurred to her that put a sinking feeling in her chest. “I don’t even know how to wear it.”

She saw a flicker of pity on his face, for he was well acquainted with the fact that Sigrid had lost her mother at a young age, and Bard had never been able to teach her the more delicate side of being a girl. Thankfully, Fili concealed the emotion well. He knew it was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. “Come here— I’ll show you.”

Sigrid was only fourteen. The dragon was recently slain, and the comb was one of the first treasures to come pouring from the ancient dwarven halls. She hadn’t seen Fili for months on account of his injuries at the Battle of Five Armies. At her age, there was no reason to question a girl kneeling between the legs of a dwarf; it would be another year before the young men of Dale had time to notice her beauty and her status, and another three years before they could come calling on her officially.

All the same, she felt a warm blush creep up her neck as Fili combed his fingers through her smooth, plain curls and began twisting them loosely. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation, focusing on the dexterity of his thick fingers as he twirled the locks and coaxed them into place. Once or twice his warm touch brushed over her neck and she blushed a little harder at her foreign curiosity toward a more intimate touch. It was nothing but girlish fancy that had no place in the mind of a practically minded young woman, she knew— she was just beginning to grasp the scope of her duties as the titular Lady of Dale, which already consumed a good portion of her time and would even moreso as time went on. But in spite of the fact, she’d harbored strong feelings toward Fili ever since the night he’d protected her and her sister from the wrath of orcs and the dragon alike.

She felt the cool prongs of the silver comb slide into place in her hair, holding the loose mass of curls snugly in place. She instinctively reached back to investigate the hairdo, her fingers inadvertently brushing against Fili’s as she patted her hair. It was a startling sensation that she simultaneously feared and savored, but she tried not to dwell on it for too long. Standing up, she retrieved a hand mirror— a luxury she’d never enjoyed until her father became Lord of Dale— and did her best to examine her hair.

“What do you think?” Fili asked, leaning back in his seat.

“It’s exquisite, Fili,” she answered. Looking over her shoulder at him, she grinned. “For once I actually feel a bit like a real Lady.”

“Nonsense,” he dismissed, standing up and moving toward her. “You’ll make a fine Lady one day, Sigrid.”

“You… really think so?” She set down the mirror, watching his face hopefully for signs that he might return her affection. “But what about now?”

Fili chucked and reached up to pat her on the back. “Right now you’re just a girl. Savor it. Don’t try to grow up too fast.”

Sigrid felt a stabbing disappointment in her chest as he turned away from her to look out the window at the mountain. _Just a girl_. His words echoed ruthlessly in her head, reminding her that she was about as far as one could get from the sort of person he might be interested in. Not that she blamed him, of course; like the rest of her family she was an awkward mess of long, gangly limbs, with only a moderate helping of curves and muscle and hair and all the other things that dwarves liked on their women. She supposed there was some hope in the fact that Fili’s brother, Kili, had fallen madly in love with the she-elf Tauriel— Sigrid herself had been there for his feverish confession. But if willowy grace and ethereal beauty were to the taste of the brothers, then she didn’t fit that description terribly well, either.

“How’s Kili?” she asked, trying to tamp down the unwelcome rush of emotions. As if his wounded leg hadn’t been bad enough, Kili had been injured once again in the battle, refusing to let his kin fight without him. If it hadn’t been for Fili, he likely wouldn’t have survived— though neither of them were willing to admit it.

“He’s getting better at using his legs, though it’ll be a long time before he recovers his strength,” Fili told her, a note of sadness in his voice. “He’ll never have the agility that he once did.”

Sigrid followed Fili to the window, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a hug and resting her head on top of his. “He’ll be alright,” she assured him, her hand smoothing absently along the front of his tunic. “He’s strong, like you. Better he go through life with stiff legs than a loss of spirit.”

Fili shifted just enough to smile up at her and patted her hand. “Of course. You’re right, Sigrid.”

She ventured a kiss on the top of his head before pulling away. It wasn’t an entirely appropriate gesture, but Fili was like family and by now she was confident that he wouldn’t look on it as anything out of the ordinary. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

* * *

 

“Well, now, there’s a sight for sore eyes!” Fili greeted enthusiastically, opening his arms in welcome to Sigrid. She bent at the waist and gave him a polite, modest hug. When she was younger, such an invitation had been an extravagant gesture that involved lifting and spinning and occasionally the knocking about of furniture. As she’d grown older and closer to womanhood, such frivolity had been abandoned in favor of propriety. The Lady of Dale couldn’t be seen swinging about in the arms of a dwarf, and without needing to address the issue out loud, they’d both come to realize that.

“Fili, it’s so good to see you,” Sigrid said, her hands smoothing her hair back into place as she straightened. She was wearing the very same comb that he had given her nearly four years ago; it was her most cherished possession, even if her infatuation toward the dwarf had dimmed in the face of maturity.

“You look—” he paused, standing back to glance her over. She felt his gaze brush over the delicate, feminine lines of her party dress, noting the particular way that they hugged her young curves. Something changed in his expression and his brow furrowed together, though she couldn’t begin to guess what was going through his mind. “That is— that bodice is laced a little tight, isn’t it?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Fili,” she laughed in embarrassment, moving to stand near the open window where a fresh summer breeze filtered in. “I’ll be eighteen in a week. And in case you don’t know, that means I’ll officially be an adult.”

“An adult?” Fili repeated, his eyebrows jumping upward in surprise. “Surely not!”

She leaned her elbows back on the window sill, letting the breeze flow down her bodice. It was true that her bodice was laced tight in order to accentuate her modest breasts, but there was something deeply satisfying in at last being able to identify as a grown woman. And somehow, there was something even more satisfying in seeing Fili realize it for the very first time. He looked completely lost, as if she’d jumped into the body of an adult when he wasn’t looking. “I’ll be taking on all the responsibilities that come with being the Lady of Dale,” she mused, looking down into the street where crowds were beginning to gather for the celebration. “At least until Bain marries, which I hope isn’t for some time.”

Of course, she bit her tongue the moment she said it. That brought up the uncomfortable topic of marriage, which was something she knew neither of them wanted to discuss. Herself because of her past feelings for Fili, and Fili because he’d practically seen her as a younger sister for the past four years. Theirs was a precious relationship that would change the moment a man came into her life.

And she refused to ponder what it would be like if that man were to actually be a dwarf. She’d entertained her girlish fantasies of marriage to Fili; she was done with all of that now.

“Anyway,” she murmured, licking her lips. “I assume the accommodations are in order? We made sure the innkeeper here had no connections to Pavel. He shouldn’t have any reason to try and bother you.”

“No, they’re— the accommodations are fine,” Fili answered, though she got the impression that he was still distracted. He was staring at her where she stood by the window, frowning as though he still couldn’t escape the unpleasant notion that she was a grown woman. The longer he stared, the more she felt the niggling itch of offense in the back of her mind; was it truly so hard for him to look at her as anything but the bargeman’s little brat?

That thought was enough to spoil a perfectly happy reunion. She pushed away from the window and straightened, running her fingers down her silken skirt. “If you’ll excuse me, I should get going. There’s still a lot to do before the festival tonight.”

Fili snapped out of his reverie, glancing up at her with wounded eyes. “So soon? But you only just got here. I could come with you, if you like…”

“No, no,” she dismissed hastily, waving a hand. “That is— imagine what people would think. If anyone got the impression that a dwarven dignitary had a hand in the preparations…”

“Oh,” his face darkened immediately. “Right.”

She knew his disgruntlement wasn’t directed toward her. He’d sampled only a small taste of the local cloak and dagger politics when Thorin’s Company had first come to Laketown. He was well aware that her reasoning wasn’t an exaggeration. Which was fortunate— she hoped it would conceal her real reasons for shunning him.

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” he said, his bright blue eyes raising to meet hers cautiously.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Tonight.”


	2. The Rohirrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange new guests arrive for the festival and Bard makes an announcement.

Come evening the streets of Dale were a sight to behold. The entire city had been decked with colorful lanterns and streamers of exquisite ribbon. Regal flags hung from every rooftop, rebuilt and ruined alike, a lavish display of pride in a struggling people that had overcome the dragon Smaug at last. This landscape that had been baptized in fire was now rich and fertile ground, which meant the verdant foliage of the city was in full bloom, filling the air with fragrant summer perfume. The people of region were dressed in their finest clothes for the occasion, a strange array of silks and linens mingling with rough-spun wool and worn leather. Echoing through the stone streets was the rich sound of trilling laughter and cheerful conversation between neighbors; a hopeful indicator that, for one night at least, the cutthroat politics of the North could be left behind in favor of the spirit of peace and good will.

Sigrid knew that wasn’t true. By now she was too well acquainted with the politics of men and dwarves and elves to believe that their senseless bickering would be abandoned, even for one day. With so many important factions gathered in the same place, there would undoubtedly be maneuvering taking place behind the backs of the people. She only hoped that she and her father could keep things under control long enough for the festival to go over smoothly.

She was just meeting up with Fili for the second time that day when they were disrupted by a servant in a frenzy.

“Milady! Milady, come quick!” beckoned Marina, the daughter of a local farmer that Bard paid to help out around the house. Sigrid turned to ask her what the fuss was about, but before she could say a word, Marina had seized her hand and was dragging her through the streets toward the south gate. A crowd was gathered there that was thicker than elsewhere, each head craning for a better view of whoever— or whatever— was at the gate. Just as Sigrid turned to ask Marina again, she caught sight of the cause for commotion: a troop of six riders on magnificent, muscular steeds, finely armored, bearing a banner with the emblem of a galloping horse.

The crowd parted for the riders as they made their way down the street, but Sigrid stood her ground even as she found herself faced with a horse taller than she was. She could see Fili scowling off to the side, ready to scold the rider for such an intimidating tactic, but with a warning look from Sigrid he remained silent. The horse stopped several paces in front of her and the rider dismounted, respectfully removing his gleaming helmet.

“Hail and well met,” he greeted in a robust voice, clear enough for the murmuring crowd to hear. Though he caught and held Sigrid’s eye, for she was the only one brazen enough to stand in the way of such a heavily armored convoy, it was clear he spoke to everyone present. “We are Riders of Rohan, and we have come in the good name of peace to offer our relations to the people of Dale. I seek the Lord of the City.”

“I am Sigrid, Lady of Dale, daughter of Bard the Dragonslayer,” she announced, similarly addressing the riders in addition to their leader. “Whatever business you have with my father you can bring to me.”

The leader’s eyebrows inched up and he took a step toward her, his voice lowering to a more conversational level. “I have heard much talk of the bounteous riches of Dale, along with the industrious and hardy nature of its people, but never did I hear mention of the beauty of its Lady. It is an honor, Lady Sigrid. I am Eldred, son of Fastred, nephew to King Fengel of Rohan.” He bowed his head, a gesture that she could only assume conveyed deep respect among such a proud line of men. “He has sent me in the hopes of securing a trade alliance with Dale— and by extension, Erebor.”

Sigrid looked toward Fili, who was standing at the front of the crowd with his arms folded across his barrel-shaped chest. The deep set of his brow and the way his lips pulled downward in the slight indication of a frown suggested in no uncertain terms that he was already inclined to dislike the Rohirrim. Eldred followed her gaze and, undoubtedly deducing the implied significance of the dwarf in the crowd, extended a nod toward Fili as well. The gesture was not returned.

“It seems to me that such an alliance would be of considerable benefit to all parties involved,” Sigrid said, fidgeting just a little as she contemplated the suddenly daunting task of trying to mediate between the dwarves and the Rohirrim. “But there is plenty of time to discuss that later. For now, we must find you accommodations; I’m certain you must be tired after such a long journey, and you may want to refresh yourselves before the festivities begin.”

It was an implicit dismissal of the crowd and, taking their cue, the townsfolk began to disperse and return to their own business— though more than a few kept one curious eye on the riders and their leader as they followed Sigrid through the streets.

“We were indeed fortunate to arrive with such timing,” Eldred remarked as Fili fell into step beside Sigrid. “We were delayed by a storm that struck just as we rounded the south-most edge of the Greenwood; it is only for the blessing of our strong steeds that we managed to make up the time.”

“They’re remarkable,” Sigrid observed with a smile, turning a shy eye toward the towering horse that Eldred led by the reigns. “I grew up on the lake— I have very little experience with horses myself. But I digress— I’m sure we are all very grateful that you were able to arrive in time for the festival.”

For the first time, Eldred managed a smile: it was a pleasant expression that brightened his entire face, diminishing the evidence of years of toil to look— well, handsome, if she was entirely honest. Like Fili, he had long blond hair and pale blue eyes, and she couldn’t deny that they were traits she had grown very fond of over the years. “I can hardly imagine what it would be like to live a lifetime surrounded by so much water. The plains are fairly dry. Some years we must work hard to retrieve our water.”

“We don’t have that problem here,” Sigrid laughed. “Although most of the year our water is locked up in ice and snow. The winters this far north are cold, long, and harsh.”

“I admit, I underestimated the North,” he replied, glancing around the festive street before settling his gaze on Sigrid. “I had not guessed that such beauty could bloom in the midst of such a desolate place.”

Sigrid felt a blush creep over her cheeks. Surely he meant the verdant gardens that spilled from every corner? But the way he was looking at her subtly suggested otherwise, and if Fili’s stormy silence on her other side was any indication, she wasn’t the only one who thought so. “You speak of the dragon,” she observed, clearing her throat and looking away. “Smaug’s presence took a heavy toll on this land and its people, but do not doubt that we are now stronger than ever before.”

“Thanks to your father,” he remarked. “The dragonslayer.”

Fili scuffed the flagstone walkway and Sigrid knew the comment had hit a sore spot. The dwarves had never intended for Smaug to leave the mountain, and still felt that their victory had been robbed of them. More than that, she had a sneaking suspicion that Thorin’s Company harbored a considerable amount of private guilt over the dragon’s attack on the men of the lake. For Bard’s part, though he took pride in having felled the beast, she knew that it hadn’t been an act of sportsmanship that had compelled him to hunt the dragon. He’d only done it in defense of his family. Even after four years, she could still recall the look on his face when they’d realized that Smaug had awoken and Laketown was in danger. Tilda’s voice had shaken when she’d asked if the dragon was going to kill them; never had their Da had a more fierce spark in his eye than the moment he’d pulled a black arrow from its hiding place and brandished its wicked tip.

“He did what was necessary,” Sigrid said softly in the wake of a long pause. “As did we all.”

The conversation was on the verge of taking a heavy turn, but fortunately, they reached their destination just in time. She pointed the riders in the direction of a stable for their horses, then assured them that the inn was one of the finest in the city. Eldred offered his thanks with a kiss on her hand, the Rohirrim departed, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on that one,” Fili growled. There was something decidedly unpleasant in his eyes as he stared in the direction of the inn, and though her instinct was to feel flattered that he might actually be jealous of the kind Eldred, she’d been disappointed by Fili’s affections too many times to pay the feeling any heed.

“Oh, please,” Sigrid huffed, rolling her eyes. “Come on— the last I heard the baker was on the verge of a disaster. We’d better check to make sure there are enough sweet rolls to go around.”

* * *

 

The Riders of Rohan were not the only exotic dignitaries to grace the city. Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil, arrived with a small delegation of elves from the Greenwood, including the fair Tauriel, Kili’s lady-love. Though she had not known his identity at the time, Sigrid remembered Legolas as her other elven rescuer from the orc pack four years ago. Her first impression of him had been cold and distant, but through various scattered meetings with the royals of the Woodland Realm, she’d come to realize that was simply the nature of elves. In comparison to his father, Legolas seemed to have high regard for men, especially Bard, whose skill with a bow made a strong impression on him.

Even Legolas and Tauriel had been surprised when another group of elves from a far more distant land had arrived. Lord Elrond of Rivendell claimed to be an old friend of Thorin’s Company, and said that he’d intended to visit the Lonely Mountain since news reached him of Smaug’s death. He greeted Bard and his family with considerably more warmth than she had ever seen from Thranduil or the Woodland elves; he seemed to be better acquainted with the ways of men, and though he was still remarkably foreign to Sigrid’s eyes, she instinctively liked him much better than Thranduil. Fili greeted him with a begrudging sort of warmth— she got the impression that he wanted to like Elrond, but was conflicted over his inherent dislike for all things Elvish.

From the distant land of the Shire came a small gaggle of hobbits, led by an ancient looking man in grey robes and a tall, pointed hat. The hobbits she recognized as the folk of Bilba, King Thorin’s champion, who Sigrid had met several times since Smaug’s death and of whom she was extremely fond. Though the hobbits were a less striking image than the Rohirrim or the elves of Rivendell, she knew better than to judge them based on their appearance; they were a stout-hearted folk who loved fiercely and placed little value on material things.

The old man she did not know, but Fili recognized him immediately, and he appeared to be well acquainted with Lord Elrond. He introduced himself as Gandalf the Grey; Fili discreetly explained that he was a wizard of considerable power who originally convinced Thorin to embark on the quest to reclaim Erebor. The description left Sigrid deeply intrigued— he appeared to be a man of humble means whose demeanor was at odds with his title. But then, she knew little enough of wizards.

The sun had only just set and twilight was beginning to darken the sky when food was brought to the great banquet tables laid out in the market square. Before the festival-goers were given leave to eat, Bard stood on the stage to deliver a speech, as was expected; Sigrid watched with her two younger siblings, prouder than ever to be his daughter. He cut a striking figure dressed in his finery, moving the crowd with his praise of their strength and good character. Though he had spent the better part of his life a black sheep in the flock, a simple bargeman haunted by the failure of his ancestor Girion, he slipped into the role of a leader among men with considerable ease. She spared a few glances for the crowd as he spoke, watching the effect he had on the people; they were deeply engrossed in his words, caught up in his heartfelt recollection of their struggles, and more than a few quiet tears were shed in the lengthening evening shadows.

“Now— hungry as we all are, there is one last order of business I should like to attend to before we begin. One that is of great personal significance to me.” A renewed hush fell over the crowd and a bated silence stretched over the square as townsfolk and foreigners alike turned a curious eye toward Bard. He licked his lips and averted his gaze toward the ground, taking a moment to gather his words. Sigrid leaned forward in her seat, curious and more than a little worried as to what had her father so stirred up.

“Many of you are acquainted with my eldest daughter, Sigrid,” he finally said, looking up and speaking in a softer tone. She froze in her seat as several faces in the crowd began turning in her direction. “In the absence of my wife, she was forced to step into shoes that were much too large for a child to wear— doubly so after the fall of the beast. She has been my extra pair of hands when I had none; she has been a planner, a treasurer, a laborer, and a healer, taking on whatever tasks these difficult times have seen fit to throw her way. I haven’t a shadow of a doubt in my mind when I say that Dale would not be here today— let alone in such a state of well-being— were it not for Sigrid. Therefore…” Her father paused, steeling himself for what came next. “It is with a solemn mind and a hopeful heart that I must announce her coming of age. One week from now, Sigrid will be eighteen years old, and eligible for marriage. I will act as an intermediary for her courtship myself; all prospective suitors for the Lady of Dale must first go through me.” He cast a long look over the crowd, letting the gravity of his title of Dragonslayer wash over them once more. “It is my hope that with time, eventually an arrangement can be made which will lead not only to her lifelong happiness, but also to a brighter future for the people of this city. Best wishes, my friends, and feast well.” He gestured to the banquet tables in dismissal and the mulling crowd began to shuffle in the direction of the food.

Sigrid sat stock still in her seat, a bright blush in her cheeks in the wake of her father’s announcement. She could feel the eyes of several interested parties in the crowd lingering on her, including the Master of Esgaroth; suddenly his gift that morning made sense and she was forced to suppress the strong desire to sink down in her seat and hide beneath the table. Beside her, Bain and Tilda were snickering madly; Sigrid stomped her heel into Bain’s foot as discreetly as she could, maintaining her composure as he yelped loudly and scooted away from her.

With a curse, he gave her an angry glare. “What was that for?”

“You know perfectly well what that was for,” she hissed. “And watch your mouth— Da’s coming.”

Right on cue, Bard slid into his chair beside Sigrid, looking for all the world like a guilty hound. And not a single one of them had a question in their mind as to why; they all knew Sigrid was upset, and they all knew that he had to have been keeping this pleasant little announcement a secret from her.

“You couldn’t have waited, Da?” she groaned, feeling like she was ten years old again. “You couldn’t have just invited a few friends to dinner and made the announcement there?”

Bard sighed, slumping back in his seat. “Sigrid, I know it’s difficult— I know it frightens you—”

“Da!” she exclaimed impatiently.

“But as frightened as you may be,” he continued, holding out a hand to silence her, “I want you to know that it scares me more.”

That was enough to quiet her protest. A stitch appeared in her brow as she studied her father’s face, waiting for an explanation.

“Do you know— I still remember the first time I saw you,” he reminisced, tapping his balled fist against his lips. “Precious, helpless, fragile— you were so small I was certain I would break you if I held you in my arms. I was terrified. I wasn’t much older than you are now, and I had no idea how to be a father. But you didn’t cry. You didn’t even fuss. Even then, you were far too sensible. From that day forward, you took care of me when I ought to have been taking care of you— and you haven’t stopped, not once in your whole life. After your mother…” he stopped suddenly, and she knew the tears she felt in her eyes were welling in his too. “After your mother died, I didn’t know what to do. But you were right there, holding my hand, and bless you— you told me it would be alright.”

“Da,” Sigrid breathed, reaching for his hand. She felt she ought to say something, but she hadn’t the words.

“All I’ve ever wanted from this world was your happiness— and that of your brother and your sister.” His gaze flickered toward Bain and Tilda over Sigrid’s shoulder, who were sitting in a stunned silence. “I haven’t always done a very good job at securing that, but I’ve tried my best. Soon enough, it will be another man’s turn. There will be another man in your life, and he’ll take care of you, and give you a different kind of happiness that I never could. The very least I can do, Sigrid, is make sure that he’s the very best he can possibly be.”

Sigrid swallowed hard and looked down, forcing back the tears in her eyes. It wasn’t the time or the place, and she was certain there would be more tears to come before the inevitable day of her wedding. “Thank you, Father,” she managed, squeezing his hand.

“Now— I suggest you eat quickly,” he told her, his tone growing lighter as he returned to the festivities at hand. “There will be plenty of men eager to lead you onto the dance floor this evening.”

“Plenty of—?” she gulped, casting a wide-eyed glance around the crowd. True to her father’s word, she caught a few looks lingering in her direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize that Rohan and Rivendell are both pretty far away to be visiting for a party. The way I see it, both the Riders of Rohan and the elves of Rivendell would be able to travel much faster than most people, so the journey wouldn't be quite so daunting. As for the hobbits... they had Gandalf. They probably flew half the distance on eagles.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you enjoyed it! As always, I'm open to commentary and feedback on my Tumblr page, [rainbowpuppy](http://rainbowpuppy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
